


The Cursed Land

by alesia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Merlin Leaves Camelot (Merlin), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 12:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18521998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alesia/pseuds/alesia
Summary: Five years after Agravaine returns from the mines of Kemeray alone, Camelot struggles to survive an unnatural famine. Only magic can undo the effects of magic, so King Arthur must send an envoy to Emrys, sorcerer-king of the mysterious nation Elmet, to beg for his aid.





	The Cursed Land

In the sixth year of King Arthur's reign, a knight of the north rode to Camelot. He was a young lad, barely bearded, but he moved with the grace and confidence of a man thrice his age. His eyes were pale and eerie, his blade and armor shone with good care, and his shield bore the golden chalice upon a blue field of Elmet. 

Naturally, the king wished to speak with him. Elmet was the opposite of Camelot in many ways; it had for long years been a wasteland cursed to suffer alongside its ruler the Fisher King, but now it thrived. Nearly every day, Sir Kay's dispatches from Ismere detailed a list of travelers going north on the old road to Helva. Few returned, and those who did brought tales of the new king of Elmet, a man called Emrys who called lightning from the sky and commanded dragons, who could grow an apple seed into a fruiting tree with a single word or tear a castle down stone by stone.

Meanwhile, Camelot starved. For four years now grain refused to sprout, and fruits and berries withered on the branch. No child was born to man or beast. Cows gave no milk, hens no eggs. Camelot's coffers were vast, but in the face of so potent a curse the cost of even sparse rations of grain drew heavily upon the kingdom's wealth. Man was not meant to live on pot-herbs alone, but that was all the fields would produce.

Villagers and nobles alike whispered fanciful tales of the curse's origin. The king's privy council, a bevy of selfish old men who shared the late King Uther's opinions, pressed Arthur to bring back the pyre and begin a new purge of magic. Arthur refused. Only he, his queen, and two trusted knights knew the truth. The murder of innocents had brought this doom upon Camelot. More death would not cleanse it.

Camelot needed a friendly sorcerer, and for over twenty years Arthur's father had persecuted any hint of magic. Uther drowned the children, burned or beheaded the adults, and rewarded murder so long as one witness testified that the victim was a sorcerer – no proof required. Arthur continued his father's policy by default through the hectic first few months of his reign; then he'd ended the executions.  Now magic brought only banishment, and the king's magistrates punished murder no matter the victim.

The privy council was not best pleased. Arthur did not care. He would gladly lay his own head upon the block if he could ensure his land and people prospered in return, but only magic could defeat magic. Elmet had sorcerers aplenty. Perhaps Emrys would spare him one – but only if Arthur's envoy reached the sorcerer-king, and then was heard, and then could be trusted to represent Camelot fairly.

But who to send? The queen was needed elsewhere, constantly traveling between their neighbors to ensure a steady supply of food reached their people. Sir Percival rarely spoke more than twenty words in a day, and had possibly been raised by actual wolves. Sir Elyan was a skilled smith and well traveled, but tended to pick fights with the hereditary nobility when forced to attend court. Neither knight had any education in diplomacy, nor any aptitude for it. Sir Leon would have been perfect for the task. Sir Leon was dead.

Arthur would have to go himself.

The knight of Elmet reached Camelot two days after his mention in one of Sir Kay's meticulous dispatches. Arthur spent those days setting his affairs in order. Visits to neighboring kingdoms were dangerous under the best of conditions, and enough sorcerers had attempted to kill Arthur over the years that he had no great hopes for his own survival in a land full of them. His life to lift the curse seemed a small price to pay.

Sir Elyan disagreed, and loudly.

"Arthur, I appreciate your intent, but please consider that my sister will kill me if I let you wander off to die alone in a strange country, surrounded by people who hate you."

"Guinevere will understand," Arthur muttered as he stamped another copy of his will with the royal seal.

"Yes, Gwen will understand that I neglected my duty. At least take Percival and I with you."

"I cannot risk you as well."

"We are sworn to protect you with our lives, sire."

"As I am sworn to protect Camelot with mine." Arthur looked up from his work at the desk at last. "Your loyalty is commendable, but this must be done."

Elyan threw up his hands. "Of course it must! So, take us with you."

Arthur sighed. "And then who will watch over Camelot until Gwen returns?"

"Sir Bors has been a fine seneschal these past five years and is well respected by the court. Neither Percival nor I are of noble blood; your privy council will not listen to us. We would do more good by your side."

"You may travel with me as far as the border." Arthur raised a hand as Elyan began to speak. "Once I have passed into Elmet, you will return to the citadel to await your sister. That is an  _ order _ ."

"Not fair, Arthur," Elyan murmured, crossing his arms.

"Neither is leaving Gwen to face the privy council alone. She will need you at her side when I am gone."

"Does that mean you'll take  _ Percival _ with you?"

Arthur buried his face in his hands.

"Sire." The king's manservant George stood at the door, his arms stacked full of papers and his eyes downcast. Several scrolls toppled from his precarious grip onto the rushes. "It's nearly time for court."

Arthur said hurriedly, "We'll continue this discussion some other time, I'm sure," before making his escape.

Elyan's voice echoed down the hall. "You can count on it, brother."

* * *

The king of Camelot held court once a week to hear grievances, judge disputes, and hold trials for serious crimes such as murder and treason. In his first year acting in his father's stead, Arthur had considered the throne a peculiar but efficient torture device, and vowed to have it replaced when he became king. Now he understood that the discomfort was deliberate and necessary. It would not do for the king to fall asleep while conducting the most important business of his kingdom.

Sir Bors handed him a list of petitioners and trials; if any remained unaddressed at the end of the day's business, they would have to wait until next week. Uther had always heard petitions in order of wealth and power. The landless were shuffled off to the end of the list, week after week, until at last they went home. Arthur preferred to draw lots. Once he'd nodded his approval of the list, Sir Bors cut it into strips and put them in a bowl. Arthur shuffled them about, then selected one at random.

"Bryn of Oswestry, step forward."

When the bell rang for midday prayers, Arthur stood for the brief recess with some relief. Four slips of paper remained in the bowl, and one of them bore the name of the knight from Elmet.

Except that it did not.

Arthur sat forward on the uncomfortable throne and squinted once again at the strip of flimsy in his hand. The straight line between 'Sir' and 'of Elmet' continued to be a line, rather than a word.

"Will the emissary from Elmet step forward and introduce himself," Arthur said with wry humor.

A bright, clear voice rang out from the back of the hall. "My apologies, Your Majesty, but as this is not my first visit to Camelot, I felt it best to be prudent."  The knight came before the throne and bowed low. "We have met before, King Arthur, when I was but a child. You saved my life. I am called Mordred."

Yes, Arthur knew the name. Uther had condemned the boy to death merely for what he might grow to do. Morgana had tried to save the boy and failed, earning Uther's ire for her defiance. In the end, Arthur had helped the child escape from Camelot, and had nearly been caught in the process. Those were simpler days, when Arthur had not yet lost Merlin to death and Morgana into her own hatred. He buried the hurt in his heart. A king could not afford to feel.

"You are welcome in Camelot, Sir Mordred of Elmet."

"Thank you, sire. My lord Emrys has sent me in his stead regarding a delicate matter that may be of interest to you. If we could perhaps confer in private after court concludes?"

"Indeed. I typically take supper in my chambers. You are welcome to join me this evening."

Mordred tilted his head.  "I am honored, sire. If I might ask –" His gaze slid to the empty throne at Arthur's left hand. "I was told of your queen's great wisdom and beauty, but the seat at your side is empty."

Arthur kept his eyes trained ahead with the ease of long practice; Gwen had been gone for three long weeks already and he missed her dearly. "Queen Guinevere has led a delegation to Nemeth to negotiate the purchase of grain."

"Of course," Mordred murmured, and bowed low again. He retreated to the far side of the throne room as Arthur selected and called on the next petitioner. Arthur set aside the emotions and memories the strange knight raised and let himself sink once more into becoming a fair and impartial judge for his people. The rest could wait.

* * *

Shortly after the evening bells rang, George cracked open the door to Arthur's solar. "Sir Mordred to see you, sire."

Arthur nodded to him, and George proceeded to let Mordred in before softly shutting the door behind him. Supper lay cooling on the long table, and the guards outside had already been informed not to allow any interruptions. Arthur stepped away from the window.

"Thank you for seeing me, your majesty," Mordred said, fingering the collar of his fine blue tunic. "I must beg your pardon for my inexperience; this is my first diplomatic mission outside of Elmet."

Arthur chuckled. "More used to fighting on the battlefield than round the council table?"

"That, and I'm usually sent to deliver my lord's messages to various dignitaries among the druids and Catha."

"A position of great responsibility. Your master must trust you very much."

Mordred shrugged. "It helps that I was already well known to various druidic chieftains when I was knighted. I've lived with most of them at one time or another."

"If you still consider yourself a druid, then you are the first of your kind known to travel within Camelot's borders in three years."

"Tis true, nearly all of my people have gone north to Elmet and sworn fealty to Emrys. Some bore grudges that it took him so long to reveal himself, but he's won most of them over by now." Mordred paused and flicked his eyes about the room, then continued in a low voice: "I must admit I was unsure of my welcome in Camelot, sire. Your father's laws still stand."

"Not exactly. Conviction for the use of magic now requires three witnesses or significant material evidence, and the sentence is banishment unless another crime has been committed." Arthur swallowed down a sudden urge to retch. "There will be no pyres in my name."

"That is a relief," Mordred said. "And what of the druids?"

"Being a druid is not a crime in Camelot," Arthur said firmly. 

"Your father disagreed."

"I am not my father."

"True." Mordred tilted his head. "His mind was poisoned by grief and by guilt."

Arthur set aside the instinctive need to defend Uther's memory. There was no harm in Mordred's statement, and besides, it was true.

"And what of yours?" Mordred went on.

"My mind?" Arthur asked, attempting humor.

Mordred fixed unwavering eyes on Arthur. "Your guilt." Arthur felt pinned open like a physician's cadaver under that gaze, all his regrets dragged out into the light and examined mercilessly.

"I am strong enough to bear it." The words slipped past his tongue without thought or strategy.

Mordred cast his eyes down. "As you say, sire."

Arthur looked away and took a deep breath, then rolled his shoulders back. "Shall we eat? I fear Camelot's tables are not what they once were, but all that we have is yours."

Mordred nodded in acquiescence, and so they sat and broke bread together. Their supper would not have been out of place on a peasant's table: thick slabs of barley bread spread with pease porridge and stewed greens from the fields. A pitcher of small beer stood ready to quench their thirst. After four years of famine, the king ate much as his people did, and Arthur had become well accustomed to such fare. Mordred followed his example with ease, showing no sign of contempt for the meagre meal.

After they'd finished every crumb and wiped their fingers clean, Arthur sat back in his chair. At last he could ask the question which had lain at the forefront of his mind for several years now. "Tell me of your king, Sir Mordred. What sort of man must I beg for my people's lives?"

Mordred's eyebrows raised. "He is kind, though often distant. There are few he trusts, but his mercy and compassion are limitless. If your plea is sincere, he will aid you."

Arthur leaned forward and rested his chin on clasped hands, elbows on the table. "It is said that he commands dragons and wyverns, and calls lightning from the sky."

"That is so."

"It is said that he slew the Sarrum, and left not one stone of his keep standing atop another."

"That is so." Arthur frowned. Mordred quickly went on, "Sire, the Sarrum imprisoned and tortured Emrys' daughter, an innocent child. Yes, he slew the Sarrum. Yes, he and his dragon made an example of the great keep of Amata. But he has not harmed the people; indeed, he has given them his protection as much as any druid or sorcerer of the Catha. He has not punished them for their king's transgressions."

"Very good." Arthur raised his chin and looked down at his clenched hands, knuckles pale and bloodless. "I can bear whatever he chooses to do with me, so long as he helps my people."

"Sire." Mordred opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again and bit at his lip before continuing. "I cannot imagine that Emrys would ever wish you harm."

"I have done things I am not proud of." Arthur stopped still for a long moment, his jaw and shoulders drawn tight with tension. "I have followed my father's orders when I knew he was wrong. I have made – God help me, I have made so many terrible decisions I cannot bear to think of them."

"We cannot change the past, sire," Mordred said, his voice low and soft. "But we needn't repeat it, either."

"I would change the past if I could," Arthur admitted. "Instead – instead I must live with it."

Mordred smiled. "Mistakes may be mended, injuries healed. The dead are lost to us forever, but the living are not beyond help."

Outside, the bell tolled one last time for the night, and a shiver crawled down Arthur's spine. "Not  _ all _ the dead," he murmured.

"Sire?" Mordred's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"'Tis time to adjourn for the evening." Arthur pushed back his chair and stood, his heart beating rapidly. "We'll continue this discussion in the morning."

"As you say, sire," Mordred agreed, but he watched Arthur carefully as they left the king's solar.

**Author's Note:**

> I do want to finish this someday, but it's in the 'not now, not any time soon' bin. Please don't ask me when I'll update; if it happens, it happens.


End file.
